


Shhhh  (Complete)

by I_hate_the_snow



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8109697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_hate_the_snow/pseuds/I_hate_the_snow
Summary: Thank you to the author of "Tall, Dark and Handsome" who let me adopt this fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tall, dark and handsome](https://archiveofourown.org/works/893815) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



Daryl's wiping at the stainless steel counter, slouched over, his chin propped up in his hand, not really paying attention to his motions, when the bell over the door chimes, alerting him to the presence of new customers. He straightens slowly and glances warily at the door- his breath hitches in his throat when he sees who's just entered the cake shop.

It's that tall, handsome cop, with a straight nose, and the bluest eyes Daryl had ever seen on a human. They were sadly hidden behind some thick framed glasses that should have made him look goofy, but instead somehow worked for him.

Today, just like every other day, the cop didn't enter the store very far. He waited, like always, at the booth right next to the door, leaning against the table, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched his fellow cop approach the counter. He playfully called out to him, telling Shane off for buying treats, telling them that they could get much better for cheaper elsewhere, with a playful wink that implied it was an inside joke. And as always he laughed him off and told him to stop being an asshole. The black haired douche with the shades even gave the man the finger behind his back as he approached the counter.

Daryl couldn't help but notice, and he really didn't want to notice because he wanted to hate the stupid man who mocked his store, and lounged near the entrance looking entirely too delectable, that apart from being a total heart stopping hottie, the guy was also painfully nice. Evident in the way he always jumped up to open the door for people coming in, giving all the pretty girls a smile that had them giggling. Daryl often fantasized that maybe the dark haired man would do that for him someday.

He'd be starting his shift at midday, hurrying because he was late to work because of his asshole of a best friend, again, and the door would swing open before him, the dark haired man smiling at him in that infuriatingly charming way. He'd stumble slightly out of shock, and slip on a wet spot on the floor because one of the other employee's didn't wipe it up properly. The dark haired man would be quick to catch him, sweeping him up into his strong arms. Daryl allowing him to take most of his weight as he wrapped his arms around the strangers shoulders, just to support himself, of course. And then the man would lean closer, his blue eyes so much prettier from this close up, and he'd softly ask Daryl, “Are you alright?” And Daryl would say he was, and the stranger would help him upright and reluctantly let him go, and then Daryl would have the guts to maybe ask his savior if he could take him to dinner sometime as payment for not letting him fall face first on the ground, and the guy would smile so wide, his eyes shining, making Daryl's stomach would feel like it's full of a thousand butterflies and-

“Daryl, are you daydreaming again? Come on, kid. We've got customers.” Andrea, Daryl's boss shook his shoulder, scowling.

Daryl huffed softly, sending the man his own quick scowl, before looking up to see the bemused faces of mister tall, dark and handsome's friends. Douche cop with the shades quirks an eyebrow at him and tapped at his wrist with false impatience, “Come on Daryl, we don't have all day.”

Dreadlocks gives him an infuriatingly knowing black lipped smile, and tilts her head curiously, “I wonder what could have distracted him from serving us?”

Daryl bared his teeth at them menacingly, teeth gritted harshly as he snarled, “What can I get you today.” Pointedly ignoring Dreadlock’s hypothetical question.

Douche cop ordered his usual cupcake, one of the cheap ass nasty children's cupcakes; vanilla sponge with some rainbow, papery icing picture on top (today's rainbow monstrosity sports a stupid ass unicorn, practically pooping rainbows and sparkles). Dreadlocks orders one of the dark chocolate eclairs. Neither gets anything extra for their friend waiting at the door, as usual.

Daryl nearly opens his mouth to inquire about their friend, he'd just like a name, or something. But like he did every other day the three came in, he bit his tongue and turned to get their treats. When he returned with two paper bags in hand he notices his co-worker, Gareth, chatting with the trio. With a scowl he stalks over, hip checks Gareth out the way, and thrusted the white paper bags at the pair, eyes practically screaming, “Take them, and get out.”

Dreadlocks delicately takes hers and steps back. Douche cop, on the other hand, makes sure to brush his fingers against Daryl's when he grabs the bag. Daryl can tell by the way his lips twitch slightly that he's doing it on purpose.

He wouldn't put up with their bullshit if it weren't for the fact that they seem to be the only reason that tall, dark and handsome even comes to the store.

The troublesome duo give Gareth a parting wave before turning to leave with their friend. The man who will definitely one day be Daryl's future husband.

Daryl sighed and propped himself up on the counter again, eyes intent on the perfect ass of mister tall, dark and handsome.

He don't see Gareth until it's too late.

Gareth hip checks him so hard he stumbled into the bin a few feet to his side, knocking it over and tripping up on it and ending up on his back on the floor. When he glared up at Gareth he realized with frustration that he's taken his spot and his rag. Now 'innocently' standing at the counter cleaning. Daryl gave him the finger, and Gareth flips one back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's later on that week that the cutie cop man returns, but surprisingly, this time he comes in with someone who isn't either of the other officers; he's got a tall, pretty woman clinging to his arm. Two small children run up to the glass counter, getting fingerprints all over the glass. He looked back at Snow White. She's got long, wavy, dark hair and a cute, soft face and Daryl swore he heard his heart as it shattered on the ground like one of their china plates. Of course the absolutely stunning man has a wife, and of course she's absolutely gorgeous. They look so painfully perfect together. She's smiling up at him with laughing green eyes, and the man is looking down at her like she's his world (the way Daryl had wished the man would look at him) and he hated that he can't even hate her: they looked too fucking happy together.

Mister tall, dark and taken is rather loudly and obnoxiously telling “Lori”- god, she even has a lovely name to suit her lovely face, fucking fuck- that she can get whatever she wants. If he wasn't so heartbroken Daryl would probably be swooning over the fact that his no longer potential future husband is such a gentleman, but he is, so he doesn't.

And for the first time the man begins to approach the counter and Daryl panicked. He can't serve the man, not like this! He felt like he's going to throw up…actually, he is going to throw up, he spins around and yelps out a garbled, “Feeling sick!” to his boss, Andrea, who was luckily working alongside him at the moment and darts out the back.

He faintly hears her worried call, but she doesn't come chasing him, for which he's glad. He scurried down the short hall and into the employee's bathroom, bracing himself against the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His face is flushed red, almost the same color as the velvet cupcakes on display in their window. His eyes are wide and dark, and he's breathing too heavily, but can't seem to get enough air. He realized distantly that he might be having a panic attack.

He dug his fingers hard into the porcelain, till they turn pale and tries to get a grip on himself. “It's okay. It'll be okay. It doesn't matter: there are plenty of other fish in the sea.” he chanted desperately to himself.

What does it matter if this one, perfect, handsome man that Daryl has been infatuated with for months turns out to have a family?

It doesn't fucking matter, he tries to convince himself, even as his eyes are starting to blur with unshed tears, and his hands are shaking despite, or maybe because of, the tight grip he has on the sink. He just has to breathe, and took deep shaky breaths, trying not to pass out, or cry.

Andrea hurried back ten minutes later and pulled him away from the sink, clutching at his shoulders and asked “What’s wrong?”

Seeing her empathy, he broke down and sank to the floor. She followed him down, pulling him closer to her, so his face is tucked under her neck. He can feel her soft and comfortingly warm against him, her small fingers are running through his hair and she quietly shushing him as he cried.

He can't bring himself to tell her what's wrong.

That evening, after they've closed up shop together, she approached him and grabbed his arm, dragging him out back. She shoved him into the staff room and leaned against the door, “Daryl, as the manager you need to know: I won't be coming in tomorrow. There's some family business I've got to take care of.”

Daryl furrowed his brow, and crossed his arms, shifting his weight onto one leg, “But who'll-?”

Andrea, despite being the owner of the shop is also the main patisserie chef, is the one who comes in and bakes the first few batches of cakes and pastries, then prepares them for display. She's always starts at around 4am- and has never missed a day of work- until now. So, he rationalizes, for Miss Workaholic to take time off, it must be important.

“Don't worry Daryl, my cousin is coming in tomorrow to replace me.” she quickly interrupts him, “I wanted to tell you first because you're opening in the morning and I didn't want you to be startled when you find a strange man in the kitchen instead of me. It'll be up to you to tell the others when they come in.”

“Okay,” he sighed heavily, rubbing at his eyes wearily, “So who is your cousin? And can he bake? Because I do not want to have to deal with customers complaining and bitching me out because he's a shitty chef.”

Andrea slapped his arm, hard. “Shhhh, Don't be so mean! Rick and I were taught to bake together, and he's just as capable at it as me. In fact he had the option to work alongside me, but he wasn't interested. It was a shame, I'd have liked this to be a family business, but, well, at least he enjoys what he's doing now. And he was kind enough to offer to come in and replace me for one day. Don't be a dick to him tomorrow Daryl, I will hear about it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Its seven a-fucking-m and the keys are jangling harshly as Daryl struggled to unlock the door to the cake shop. He's got an hour to set up shop before they open- if he can get this fucking door open- there we go.

He's not yet awake properly because Dwight, the asshole, came over last night and kept him up way too late, even knowing all too well that Daryl had work in the morning. And as a result he only got a few hours’ sleep. He's got a giant thermos of hot, black coffee grasped securely in his other hand and he refuses to relinquish it for the next half hour till he's drunk most of it and feels like he can serve customers without punching them in their stupid whiny faces. (That “customers are always right” saying? Total bullshit.)

He can hear the distant sound of someone working out back, and in his fuzzy, sleepy haze he stumbled towards the kitchen, a greeting for Andrea on his lips. He bumped open the stainless steel door with his hip and leaned in to see his boss.

His thermos clattered loudly to the ground, boiling hot coffee spilling out at his feet. He's distantly aware that there's a ringing in his ears, and his head feels funny, but all he can concentrate on right now is the figure half turned to him.

The next thing he's aware of is his neck feels sort of uncomfortable, like he slept in a weird position. And there's something warm and heavy on his cheek. He grunts and swats at it, eyes still shut. It shifts off, and awareness is slowly starting to creep back...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A tall frame, and the bluest eyes he's ever seen on a human. The man is smiling widely at him, but his face starts to drop slowly, a questioning look replacing his smile. Daryl can't think much about that now because his vision is sort of tunneling and the world is feeling a little bit off kilter...

The back of his head hurts a lot. In fact his whole head is throbbing and his eyes feel like they're going to bounce out of their sockets if he doesn't keep them shut. His clothes feel wet in weird places, sticking to his skin, warm and uncomfortable. And he vaguely realizes that he's lying on something hard and cold- probably the floor? Except his head is cushioned on something softer. His eyes flutter openly slowly, the bright fluorescent lights of the kitchen are harsh and he squinted, hands shooting up to cover his eyes, “Holy shit!” he rasped.

“Careful,” a warm voice says softly from above him, “I think you hit your head pretty hard when you fainted.”

Daryl opens his eyes again, ready to tell this stupid, disembodied voice that Daryl Dixon does not faint! And promptly choked on his words, because worried blue eyes behind thick frames are looking down at him, and suddenly it all came rushing back.

The turbo hot cop was standing in Andrea's kitchen. The sound of his thermos hitting the floor- that might explain the wetness in his clothes actually, and … oh, fuck. He must have passed out from shock, or from the blood rushing from his head or something along those lines.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And holy fucking shit. He is lying in the dark haired man's lap. The dark haired man has been touching him.

He vaguely remembers Jane telling him her replacements name was… Rick. The man's name is Rick, and he's Andrea's cousin. And Daryl is lying in his lap.

“Dude, calm down, you look like you're about to faint again. Shhhhshhh. You're Daryl, right?”

Rick knows his name! Rick-the tall, dark, handsome stranger knew his fucking name! Daryl is sort of having a little trouble processing things and he blinked a little stupidly up at Rick. He can feel his lips twitching up into a goofy smile, because Rick knew his name and he's lying with his head in Rick's lap and if this isn't an indication that they're destined to be together he doesn't know what is.

Fingers snap in front of his face and he startles, realizing he'd been sort of day dreaming again. Rick is giving him a really worried look, “Oh man, oh man. Are you going to be okay? Do you need to go to the hospital or something? Arghhh. Of course shit goes down on the one day I'm in... Daryl, talk to me buddy, how are you feeling?”

Oh shit. If Rick thinks he's unable to work then he'll send him to the hospital or back home and he'll probably never get a chance like this again. This is basically life shoving his dream man into his face and going “You've got one shot at this, asshole.” He can't fuck this up. He can't.

“You have really blue eyes.” he says smiling up at Rick. There, that ought to do it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rick carefully helped him up, keeping an arm around his waist in case he keeled over, and led him out the kitchen, to the small staff room. He helped him sit down in one of the stingy plastic chairs, then shuffled over to the spare uniform box they keep for emergencies like this.

Rick rummaged through clothing packets and pulls out some black pants, and a dark blue button up top that look like they might be Daryl's size. He put them on the table next to Daryl, then goes to the freezer and gets one of the ice-packs, which he wrapped up in a spare dishcloth from under the sink and hands it to Daryl. “Put that on the back of your head, it should help with any swelling. I'm going to go call someone to come replace you, so while I'm gone you can change into some dry clothes, if you think you can manage it.”

“Wait, I'm fine.” Daryl protests. No, no, no! Rick can't call someone else in. He'll miss his chance to work with him! “Thought you were a cop.”

Rick raises a skeptical eyebrow and braces a hand on his hip. “You don’t look fine to me, buddy. I’ve called an ambulance. Besides, I can't risk it, I've got to at least send you home, sorry. I can't have it turn out you have a concussion or something, Andrea would kill me if I let an injured worker stay on shift. And yes, I am a cop. I bake as a hobby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Rick came back Daryl was buttoning up the shirt of the dry uniform. Both the shirt and pants are too big, but it doesn't really matter seeing as he's going straight home, apparently.

Daryl asked cutie cop to cancel the ambulance. He’s fine. Rick leaned on the table beside him, and asked as to where he left his car this morning. Daryl paused to think, his mind a little hazy, and stared at his clothes bunched up in his hands. He recalled that he didn't drive this morning. His apartment is only a few blocks away from work, so it's not worth wasting gas or bus money just to drive down here. He told Rick, who offered him a ride home because, “I'd feel like a dick if I sent you to walk home or something and you collapsed on the way.”

Before they can leave Rick insists that they wait for Daryl's replacement to show up.

Gareth Greene has been called in to replace him this morning. Gareth usually works the afternoon shifts, due to some of his personal obligations. But he's one of the fastest at setting up shop in the morning and he is skilled enough in the kitchen to finish preparing the cakes and pastries Rick hadn't completed yet. He's one of the only employee's that could work alone and still and get the shop opened up in time for customers and the second worker to come in.

Gareth saunters in through the front door and ruffles Daryl's hair as he passes him in the first booth. “Got yourself into a little trouble, huh, Kiddo?”

Daryl scowled and snapped at his fingers, teeth clicking as they miss by a breath. “Just because I've got a sore head doesn't mean I can't beat your ass. Don't patronize me, you dick.”

Gareth snorted at him and gave him the finger. Daryl returned the gesture, but Gareth has turned his back on him while he puts on his apron. To Daryl's immense frustration he doesn't turn around again, just gives a vague wave over his shoulder and disappeared into the back.

Rick appeared through the same door moments later with his car keys in his hand. “Ready to go?” he asks in an annoyingly chirpy manner that almost makes Daryl's head feel worse.

Daryl nods, but started to feel shy. He's going to be alone with Rick, in his car, and it's not exactly bad, but Rick is a little different to how he'd imagined him to be.

Rick smiled and turned around to yell at the back, “I'll be back soon, Gareth. Hold the fort for me.” There's a muffled affirmative reply from the back.

Then Rick's helping Daryl up and steering him outside and round the side to the small staff car park. He hovered nearby as Daryl climbed in the car, then ran round to the driver’s seat.

“Okay, so where do you live?”

It's a five minute drive to Daryl's apartment and it's silent the whole way, but somehow it's not an awkward silence. Daryl thinks it's probably because of Rick. The man seems to bring even silences to life, shifting in his seat, tapping his long fingers against the steering wheel, bobbing his head and making barely audible noises under his breath.

When they get to his apartment building Rick rushed around to open his door for him. Daryl's heart flutters a bit when Rick held out his hand to help him out. He savors the feeling of his hand in Rick's; this is something he'd imagined, and it feels right.

Rick even helps him up the flight of stairs, a warm, steady hand on his back, between his shoulders. “Do you have roommate?” he asks and Daryl nods. “Is he around?”

Negan is at work right now, like Daryl should be, ugh. “No, he won't be back till late tonight.” he sighs (secretly glad, because he'd hate to see Negan's face when he appeared at the apartment with Rick. The asshole knew all about his infatuation with the man, and would not hesitate to tease him about it).

Rick is giving Daryl a worried look again, “Is there any one around you can get to help you? You should probably make a doctor’s appointment soon.” Daryl groaned loudly. He just wanted to take a nap. It's still way too early and his head hurts, he says as much.

The crease between Rick's brows is beginning to look like a permanent fixture on his face. “I'm worried that you might have a concussion, you really shouldn't sleep now, not without someone to check on you. Is there anyone I can call to help? I’m a cop, Daryl. I have to do this.”

All of Daryl's friends are at work, well, all the ones that are capable of helping him. He shook his head slowly, “Not until at least 5pm.”

Rick sighs deeply, a frustrated noise, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, dude. What I'm going to do for now is give you my number.” Daryl swore his heart stopped. “I'll make some calls to see if I can get anyone to help out, but otherwise I'll call to check up on you every hour.” he sighs heavily again, “Hopefully I can get my sister, Kate, to help out. You don't mind do you? I'm just worried about leaving you alone, and you really should get to the doctor today. I'd take you myself, but I've really got to get back to the shop soon.”

Daryl shrugged, not really listening, just giving Rick a sort of startled, wide eyed look. He felt his cheeks heat up when they exchange numbers. And when he's got Rick's number he cradled his phone against his chest, his heart beating faster.

Rick shoved a hand into a pocket, and gives Daryl a little wave as he backed out of the man’s apartment. “I'll try sort something out okay, Daryl? Hold tight and don't die on me or anything.” Rick chuckled briefly, and Daryl give him a stilted, awkward wave, then he's gone.

He sank deeper into his sofa, mindful of Negan's and his own electronic crap all over it. His cell phone is still clutched tightly between his hands, against his heart. Daryl takes a deep breath, eye's drifting shut. He's actually got Rick's number, he has a chance- fuck.

FUCK.

Eyes shooting back open, there's a sick sensation dripping, like slime, thick and pooling in the bottom of his stomach, as he remembers: Rick has a fucking family.  
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